


Fin

by Alethia



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Alec's Had Enough, Angst, F/M, Goodbyes, Missed Opportunity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-23
Updated: 2006-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to laivine on the day of her birth. Kaly wanted Alec angst and I’ve always wanted to write this. Not happy. Originally posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/174105.html).

Did he have everything?

Alec scanned his apartment, checking for anything he might have missed—shoved under the couch in a hurry, hidden behind the false wall panel for security. He’d already done a thorough sweep so he knew he hadn’t, but…

But.

He shook off the thought, concentrating on what was laid out in front of him in a neat row: everything he wanted to save, everything that meant anything to him.

Careful fingers traced over the knife. It made him smile, only a hint of its bitter history escaping. Every time he looked at it, pressed measured fingers to its cool shine, it reminded him of Max in some indefinable way. Maybe it was the almost curve of the handle or that coolness that warmed eventually. He didn’t know. 

It should be hers.

Alec had tried to give it to her; she’d refused the gift. Twice.

He hadn’t even stolen it and that somehow made the rejection worse. No, he’d seen it on a job, he’d freely admit, but he’d gone back and bought it. The very next day he handed over too much money to the still-bewildered store owner and slipped it into his pocket. Where it stayed. For months, Alec fingering it and arguing in his head—did he want to give it to her? Did he want to keep it to remind him of her?

In the end he’d decided she should have it. He’d inexpertly wrapped it in some plain paper, tied it with some packaging string that had been lying around, and presented the lopsided package to her with an equally crooked grin.

***

Max stopped, eyeing his gift like it would suddenly animate and bite her if she took it from him. Which was ridiculous, really. He could _so_ be more subtle than that.

“What’s that?”

“For you, Maxie. In honor of our prim and proper introduction.”

“What are you on about?” Ahh, hostility. Her default setting.

“I walked into your cell a year ago today. What, you didn’t get me a present?” he asked, affecting offense but internally way too twitchy about how she still wasn’t taking the goddamn package.

She snorted. “It wasn’t exactly the best day of my life. And it’s still nothin’ special,” she said snidely, turning up her nose as she walked by him, refusing to even give the gift—still held out in his hand like the moron he was—a second glance.

***

Good times.

He smiled bitterly at the memory; it was such classic Max, the big bitch coming out to cover up the fact that she was just a scared little girl in way over her head. Not that it mollified him any.

Alec pulled his hand away from the knife, leaving it where it was. He had time. He didn’t have to decide right this second.

The next object was his all-sector pass for LA. Normal had hooked him up big time and Alec grinned as he ran his fingers over his name, then quickly stuffed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. That wasn’t going anywhere.

Turned out Normal had used his good business sense, if not his expert management skills, to build up a chain of messenger services along the west coast. As the recovery progressed, they’d been used more and more and he became increasingly absent, traveling between businesses, making sure things were run properly. His replacement hadn’t been quite as susceptible to Alec’s charms, but apparently the big guy had put in a good word. No one even questioned him, which somehow made his antics less fun. But, hell. He got to do whatever he wanted.

And Normal still came back to Seattle an awful lot, especially considering Alec knew that the other Jam Ponys were more profitable. Nah, Normal just wanted to visit and it reminded Alec of the old days, when things weren’t simple but at least they were easier. Alec always liked seeing him. And Maureen, too. Granted, they were never far from one another these days.

***

Nothing happened, nothing notable, but whatever nothing that made him look up could visit him any day. She was perfect. Slim with reddish hair, a confidence about her that told him all about intelligence, study, wit. It was instinctual to zone in on the book in her hands, absorbing her attention as she wandered down the street idly. French poems.

Alec grinned. He checked the street before he crossed, wheeling his bike up to her quickly and blocking her path forward. It took her a moment to pull herself away from Rimbaud, but when she did it was with a curious, if slightly imperious air.

Perfect.

“Did you need something?” she asked, that false note of politeness in her tone, always there when people really meant ‘get the hell out of my way, bike boy.’

He smirked. “To know your name. And everything about you.”

She pulled herself back, slight annoyance turned to suspicion. “And why would a young man like you possibly need that?”

He switched it up on her, grin going charming and inquisitive. “You like Rimbaud?”

“I haven’t yet decided.”

“Not one to make snap judgments?”

“There are always exceptions.” Her tone suggested she would happily make him such a case.

“Well, women always do make exceptions for me. Can’t help it; it’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is big enough to have more than one part?”

Alec grinned. She really was perfect.

“Educated pre-pulse. Somewhere unbearably snooty and guilt-ridden. Oxford?” he guessed.

“Yale.”

He shrugged. “Not like there’s much difference.”

A curled smile said he had her, even if she was about to argue the point with him, so he let his expression meld into something sincere. “See, I have this friend…”

***

They’d married two years later. He’d been best man at the wedding and had given, in his opinion, a _superior_ toast, a toast that was one for the history books.

And Normal didn’t have any sort of moral high ground, anyway, what with the gladiator story Alec had been forced to endure. Several times.

Alec shook his head, pulling himself away from the memory and back to his darkening apartment, now bare of everything except the rickety little table. He picked up the clipping gingerly, unfolding it like so many other times, noting how the newsprint had faded, yellowed as it aged. Not that it mattered; it still made him proud, prouder than he had a right to be, all things considered. But right there, in black and white, Calvin Theodore and his very first article.

***

“It’s stupid, man. C’mon, don’t read it.”

“Hey, take some pride. It’s magnificent.” They were having drinks at Anthony’s, a concession to the need for security and Alec’s continued wariness about being out of TC for any length of time.

“It’s a hundred-twenty-three-word story about sewer rats,” Sketchy said, downplaying it when Alec knew all he wanted to do was jump up and dance on tables.

Thank all things holy he was repressing that urge.

“It’s a hundred-twenty-three-word story about sewer rats written by _you_ ,” Alec corrected, fingering the paper Sketchy had given him, not missing how a gleam of pride animated Sketchy’s eyes even as he denigrated it.

Decision made, Alec balanced the paper on his knee, ripping carefully around it, making sure he didn’t accidentally tear it.

“Hey, what are you—”

“This is going in my success file.”

“Man, you really are scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“Hey!” he grabbed Sketchy’s arm, gripping so that he’d _feel_ it. “Enough with that. This is what you’ve always wanted so stop spitting on it. It’s great. You’re livin’ your dream, man. A lotta people don’t get to do that, so stop whining and let me be properly proud of you.”

Sketchy’s obvious pause meant some of it had gotten through and Alec held his gaze, fingering the article, waiting for his response. “You’re proud of me?” 

The smallest inkling of hope that had leaked into that would have broken Alec if he’d been that kind of guy. As it was, it made him soften his look into something sincere, but only for a moment. Can’t take it too seriously, can’t let it get too close. 

He smirked. “Hell, yeah. You’re doing us all an invaluable service. You know, writing about sewer rats.”

Sketchy grinned, finally, shaking his head, but something in him relaxing back, happy, if Alec still knew what that looked like. “You’re such a jerk,” he said, voice shaking with his laughter.

“I really am. I’m also buyin’.”

Sketchy turned quickly. “Barkeep!”

***

It was a good memory, worn like the rough edges of the clipping he still kept, but out of affection, not remorse. Too few like that, but he was gonna do something about it now. Finally.

Sketchy had moved on to bigger and better; he was too determined not to. Headlines weren’t so unusual these days and he’d been one of the transgenics’ biggest advocates, giving them a touch of the personal when all people saw was the soldier. Some days not even that. 

Alec hadn’t asked for it and Sketchy hadn’t volunteered. That was just how it was. And it was good.

He folded the clipping again, placing it with the sector pass.

Next was another piece of paper, this time more fragile even than the thin newsprint. Alec fingered the swift lines, hurried, excited to represent their subject, hoping he wouldn’t move, that he could capture something of the spirit in two sad dimensions.

Alec never did have that artist’s sensibility thing.

***

He was vaguely aware that Joshua was staring at him. No, not just staring, staring intently.

Max was up at the front, running her mouth off about trash collection of all things, standing next to a board that had seen better days and waving her arms like the apocalypse was coming and she was gonna be Queen of the Welcome Parade. Which, well, was probably true, but Alec doubted trash had anything to do with it. So he could perfectly understand Josh’s need for a little distraction, but—

“Josh, you’re kinda freakin’ me out,” he muttered, way below normal hearing range, not even looking at him as he said it.

“Why?”

Alec moved his eyes, tried to watch him from the corners without turning his head. Max would notice for sure and then she’d probably ask him some stupid question about trash, which he wouldn’t know, and then he’d end up _collecting_ trash.

That was so his life these days.

“You’re staring.”

“Not staring.”

Alec could finally see him, looking intently, yes, but from Alec to something in his lap—

Oh. He was drawing.

“You’re drawing me?” he asked, voice only slightly louder, but expressing just what he thought of that.

Josh grunted, his long hair obscuring most of his face. “Don’t move.”

His pencil scratched and scratched—Alec could hear it better than he could see it, mind mapping out visually what his ears told him. But, ah, hell. He was always a crap artist. Josh could be drawing him and Max naked three ways from Sunday and Alec wouldn’t have a clue.

Heh. Please let Josh be drawing that. Would make his year.

That thought pleasing him more than he could express, he turned his head just slightly, trying to get a better look—

Only to have Josh reach up and press three fingers to his jaw, nails just a hint of a threat, quickly pushing him into the same old position before moving back to the drawing. No one noticed, thankfully, and Alec had to sit there and listen to figures on per transgenic output when all he really wanted to do was lean over and watch what Josh came up with.

Once he’d moved on to figures—after Annie—he’d gotten really good. Or, at least, Alec had been able to tell what he’d been going for, which was a vast improvement, if he did say so himself.

The scratchy sounds stopped abruptly and Josh grunted something satisfied. “Alec can move now. For you,” he pushed a piece of worn, old paper into Alec’s line of sight, sitting back with that proud smile firmly in place.

Alec touched the page with hesitant fingers. It was not he and Max having sex. This was—something else entirely. For all that it was freehand it held something in it, expressed some kind of energy that Alec never saw but that he heard others whisper about as he walked past, some kind of glint in his eye or angle of his head, _something_. It was…him. It was him in all the ways that mattered, scribbled hastily on the page. And it was better than any famous, moldy old masterpiece he’d never felt guilty stealing.

Alec did turn then, favoring Josh with a genuine smile, hopefully showing just how much he appreciated it because he didn’t know if he could put it into words if it came to that.

“Alec! Am I boring you?” Max snapped, pulling his attention back. He dropped the page quietly, mixing it in with his notes.

“Nah, not at all. I find pounds of garbage per person per day absolutely _fascinating_.”

“Well, good. You’re now in charge of it.” 

Alec hung his head in defeat. He could not win. 

***

Next to that was a single, crumpled dollar bill, a quick note in the corner. Alec shook his head at the memory.

***

“OC, why you are you counting money?” No one else should get to count money like that, all self-satisfied and content. That was _his_ thing.

“I bet against yo ass,” she said simply, licking her fingers and thumbing through the quite considerable stack of bills yet again.

“Aw, man. Where’s the love?”

“You hot, but OC ain’t stupid. Besides, love fo you don’t extend to the wallet, if you know what I mean.”

“You woulda bet on Max if she were playing,” he grumbled.

“Max is my sista. Listen, you pretty, soldier-boy, I’ll give you that, but OC don’t play that game and besides, I ain’t neve gonna bet against a man with somethin’ to prove,” she said, looking exaggeratedly over at Logan, sitting at the bar glumly, stung by Max’s rejection.

“To prove?” Alec asked, the picture of innocence.

“Mmm-hmm. Acceptin’ a challenge from a genetically revved up soldier-boy like you? He knew what he was doin’. And you did, too, so quite actin’ all doe-eyed on me. Original Cindy has yo number.”

Alec grinned, raising his glass. “I might have had an inkling.”

“And you missed that shot, so even though my girl’s all up on you, I gotcha back.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna split your take with me?” Alec asked hopefully.

OC eyed him, assessing, and turned to the bills in her hand. She shook her head, almost motherly, and ruffled through her purse until she came up with a pen. Taking a bill from the bottom, she quickly scribbled a note on it and with no ceremony whatsoever handed it over.

“A dollar,” he said, staring at the crumpled one.

“Mmm-hmm. Now dontcha go spendin’ it all at once, neither.”

“OC, I can’t quite wrap my head around your generosity.”

“I know. All you fools could take a page from Original Cindy’s book, you know whatta mean? Now, in that spirit o’ generosity, yours truly’s gonna go get us anotha pitcher of beer.”

“Now that I can get behind,” he said with a smirk, tapping a finger against his glass. She shot him a frown, reserved generally for men and dogs when they were being themselves, but went on her way. It gave Alec the chance to look at what she’d written: 

“To hot-boy in honor of his showin’ some soul. Peace. OC.” Alec grinned.

***

Both the picture and the dollar were folded and placed in that same inside pocket. The only things left were money and the knife. He moved back to the latter; the money could wait.

He’d had the knife engraved after that first rejection, not that she’d ever even seen what it was. It took him forever to decide. He considered putting the date, but that was way too hokey. He’d thought about a message, but he couldn’t quite imagine something as mundane as ‘To Max, from the biggest pain in your ass of all time.’ It seemed too pat, too easy and obvious.

His inspiration, when it came, was like those times when everything just clicked and started working—like when he and Max were side-by-side, kicking some major Familiar ass or when he met the rare woman who just knew how to move with him. Comfortable and still exciting. In sync.

Alec had felt that when the idea came to him, but still, it took him forever to figure out how to get it perfect. He went to a library—a _library_ —and looked at books just to make sure he was being accurate. He scribbled it out on napkins and newspapers, this way, then that. Trying to get it perfect. 

And he did.

Then he had to find someone who could actually engrave metal and wouldn’t ask too many questions, not to mention someone who had the talent to pull it off. Alec kept walking out after seeing each guy’s work. This one’s didn’t have the right feel, that one’s was too choppy, the last one’s was too modern.

In the end, he broke into one of their shops—the one with the finest point—and did it himself. His hands held steady, but his breathing was ragged and he was actually _sweating_. He had one shot; that thought filtered through while he was working on the leaf and he almost lost it, but he shook it off, got his head back in the game, and completed the curve without a wriggle to mar it.

The cherry was perfect; oh, it wasn’t _perfect_ perfect, one of those mystical cherries that didn’t exist and never would. It was real and imperfectly symmetrical and something that looked like what you’d actually eat. But it was still perfect and it had Alec smiling for days. 

_He’d_ done that. And it was utterly Max—subtle and simple and flawed, but still beautiful.

He’d hoped she liked it. 

She’d never even seen it.

The second time he’d tried to give it to her had been four years later, after Logan had died, after—everything, really.

***

“What—oh, Alec,” she said, like she’d been expecting someone else to waltz into her office, hoped, maybe.

“Uh, hey, Max,” he said, still uncertain about this new woman in Max’s body—sometimes fiery, sometimes a million years away.

“Did you need something?” she asked, when he didn’t speak after that.

“Oh, right. Um, I thought you might like this,” he said, holding out a package wrapped so long ago—before war and starvation, before fatigue seeped into every corner of TC. Before a man died and a little bit of Max went with him. Before a new part of her took control—the part that lived only in could haves and what ifs.

She smiled, but it was a grotesque shadow of a thing, not that he’d often had her old ones directed his way. But he’d seen some get them and they used to capture people, stop them in their tracks. 

Now there was just nothing, a void that you instinctively understood, even if you’d never seen the original. Some murmured that Manticore hadn’t made them strong enough, war had taken its toll on their people, just look at their leader.

It wasn’t true; Max took her own toll.

“It made me think of you, so…” he trailed off, wondering at the person _he’d_ become, how far her shadow had stretched.

“I don’t think I’m up for presents, Alec.” And she never would be.

Turning back to her reports was a dismissal and for a second time Alec cradled the package to his chest, paper rough with age and weather and transport, the gift heavier in his hand than he knew it to be.

“Right. I’ll, uh, let you get back to it. Wouldn’t want the world to fall down around us.” But the joke fell flat, lifeless as her eyes most days, and Alec pressed his lips together firmly.

And he left.

***

The knife was heavy in his palm once again, metal glinting subtly next to his skin. He would forever associate it with her, with all their fighting and later, all their stilted awkwardness. And his decision was just that easy.

He didn’t need it to remind him; he didn’t want it to remind him. He carried that with him, always would, probably. And he didn’t need Max’s edge hanging over him for the rest of his life.

Alec set the knife back on the table, dead-center, cherry facing up. She wouldn’t be able to miss it. Briefly, he wondered if she’d know what it was, what it meant…

But that way lead to madness and he couldn’t wait for her to figure it out. Didn’t want to.

The money was easy, impersonal. He’d managed to save up a pretty penny—thirty grand on the table, thirty sent on ahead, ninety-odd more buried in at the base of a rock outcropping in the woods outside the city. 

She never could get past appearances and first impressions.

Alec divided the money, hid some with the gun at his ankle, more with the one at his waist, put the rest in his pocket. He checked the room one more time, sad to see it go, a place that had been a real home for five years, almost a fifth of his life.

He nodded. He was done.

Alec just barely managed to pull back before his door swung in to hit him in the face. Max filled the empty space. Of course, because nothing ever could be easy.

“Max.”

She took one look at his face, glanced away quickly, and darted her eyes back when she realized something. She looked—flushed, like she’d run, hair windblown and wild, eyes to match.

She’d been to see Sketchy, then.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, harsh in the silence.

“I can’t—be here anymore.”

“What, you’re just gonna give up when things get bad?”

“This isn’t bad,” he shot back, vehement. “This is good. Things are good. I could handle bad, but you’re never gonna let go of it. I’m letting go for both of us, Maxie.”

“Right, so I should be thanking you.”

“Maybe down the road…” But no, she never would change. Six years, unfathomable heartache, and the same old Max had taught him well.

“What about your friends, your life? What about Sketchy and Joshua. They need you.”

Alec laughed, bitter to the end. “You always did use them to enslave yourself.” Alec shook his head, almost sad to see that she still didn’t see. “I don’t live my life for them. Or rather, I refuse to float through it like a shell because of them. I need more. And I can’t get it here so I’m no longer gonna _be_ here.”

“Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” he affirmed, fixing her with an intent stare. She needed to _get_ it.

And—ah. She finally did.

“You’re serious.” Like it was in question. 

“I’ve always been serious, Max. You just never figured that out.”

He could see the moment she decided confrontation wouldn’t achieve her ends, actively switching over to cajoling. It might have worked, once. “Alec…”

“Don’t even try it. You’ve had _six years_. It’s _enough_.” Shaking his head he continued on his way out, refusing to look back at his apartment, at Max. He hurried down the stairs to where his bike waited, gassed up enough to get him to LA and to the contacts Normal had waiting for him.

Swinging his leg over, getting his helmet on, they were rote, automatic. The sound of the engine roaring to life was enough to jolt him, enough to allow himself that one last look, Max small at the window, watching, burnished shine in her hand.

He revved the engine.

“It’s enough.”

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
